When I was a mere child, the Canton Presbyterians prided themselves on their music programs for the children of the church. Beginning as Cherubs in the singing Christmas tree, we climbed our way through the musical scales to fortissimo in the Junior Choir, led and conducted by our only bachelor preacher, Dr. Charles R. McCain. Doc also played the piano while forcing our small voices to come forth with strange sounds called new hymns.
Others had taught us the great old songs for kids like “Climb, Climb Up Sunshine Mountain,” “Jesus Loves Me,” and “If the Devil Doesn’t Like It, He Can Sit on a Tack”. Doc took us on adventure treks through the big blue hymnal full of oblivious songs even for the adult choir. I distinctly recall our dozen or so songsters sitting on the front row of wooden chairs in the sanctuary annex straining to sing “The Lone Wild Fowl in Lofty Flight”, which was chalked up as too difficult even for us.
When I was still in the Children’s Cherubs, someone built a rather large green plywood frame in the shape of Christmas tree with six or seven rows rising from the widest at the floor level to only one step wide enough to hold our gauze-winged angel topper. We practiced our carols, and the night for the “Living Christmas Tree” finally arrived. Following our only golden haloed angel, the rest of us in white robes with red bows filed into our descending rows, and I ended up mid-tree to the utmost right of that row. I was only three or four feet off the floor as I gazed righteously at all those grownups who came to be put in the season’s reason by our heavenly carols.
As the congregation quieted in anticipation for our performance, Bobby Heath, who was just behind me, uttered blasphemy in the congregation: “Dudley farted!” His words were picked up by all the cherubs and those in the first pews, and a hefty guffaw rumbled throughout the sacred space interrupting any form of reverence that might have been present. Being of ruddy complexion, I blushed furiously and, joining ranks with other fallen angels, plummeted to the floor.
Wishing I had the magic to just disappear, I felt just like “The Lone Wild Fowl in Lofty Flight” who wanted to fly the coop to Never Land or Oz.
Wishing I had the magic to just disappear, I felt just like “The Lone Wild Fowl in Lofty Flight” who wanted to fly the coop to Never Land or Oz.
While I was never found guilty of breaking wind or any other commandment, my boyhood countenance was shattered and my choral virtue was questioned. Of course, I wanted revenge, but with Christmas just a few days away, my main concern was being a nice Christian and keeping off the naughty list that Santa was purported to be keeping on us around this time of the year. Even fallen cherubs deserve a break!